


When You Hold Me, I'm Alive

by nikuy



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Friendship/Love, Gay Rights, Gay Rights in Football, Gen, Sexual Equality, Undercover As Gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:40:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikuy/pseuds/nikuy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A wishful thinking wherein equality might be achieved in Football.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isa a.k.a besosyamapolas](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Isa+a.k.a+besosyamapolas).



> Written based on Isa's prompt. (i finally posted this kdjsa;ls;'ecn <3)
> 
> It took me so long to finally post this. I find writing this prompt to be more personal/intimate than any other stuffs I've written before. Let me know what you think about this! :)

Mesut fidgeted on his seat. He had sat in this room before, in front of the cherry wooden table with a large Real Madrid banner draped right behind the leather seat on the other side of the table, like he did today way before he signed the contract with this club and after he moved to this city. This office gave him chills even though the air-con was never that harsh; it felt almost like he was in the heart of Real Madrid itself. It made him feel so small and insignificant with photos of Raul, Zidane, and many others glaring down at him, judging him.

 

He had no idea why he was called to the office, it made him feel uneasy. Did he do something? Did he play _that_ bad this season just that the men ‘up there’ needed to discuss it with him? Will they cut his fee? Will they suspend him? _Oh god_ , will they transfer him away? He chewed on his bottom lip, feeling more and more nervous as the thought escalated in his head. He _loved_ this club. _A lot_. He did not want to leave, he had never even thought of leaving at all. He was already in love with Madrid, the people, the supporters, and his teammates. They were such wonderful, lovely people. He could not imagine if he didn’t get Mourinho’s call after World Cup, it wouldn’t be the same. Sure, he lost a fiancée moving here and getting comfortable with his new mates, but it was damn worth it.

 

He almost snapped his head as he turned to the door when he heard it creaking only to see Sergio walking in. A sudden wave of relief surged through his body and he couldn’t help the sigh escaping his lips which earned him a weird look from his teammate.

 

“They called you too?”

 

“Yes. Yes, oh my god!” Mesut laughed and leaned onto his seat, giggling happily while ignoring the look on the Spaniard’s face, “You know what, I was so nervous sitting here with everything I have on my account right now. Oh, god bless, they’re not going to transfer me!” He covered his face with his palms, feeling the warmth coming back to his fingertips slowly.

 

Sergio chuckled and took the empty seat next to him, “What are you talking about? After I sacrificed myself wearing that stinky shirt of yours? Not a chance.” He barked as Mesut punched his arm.

 

“It’s not that stinky, you idiot.” The German pouted a little but his eyes betrayed his pretence. “You know, if I get transferred somewhere…I’m not sure they have someone stupid enough to wear my shirt only to prove a point.”

 

“And whoever will be replacing you, I’m not sure they’d be such an annoying little puppy.” He got another hit on his arm, “Hey! Watch it!”

 

“I’m not that annoying!” Mesut scoffed, “The media said I’m shy and I have good conducts. Beat that.” he proudly stated.

 

“Oh yeah? Well, they don’t know you personally. They have to at least talk to me or Sami to know how suffering you are.” He gently flicked the younger man’s nose, “’Sergio this’, ‘Sergio that’, ‘oh Sergio I forgot to feed Rocky’.”

 

“I’m not that whiny!”

 

“’Aww naww…! Sergio, there’s a cockroach in my bedroom!’—hey, ouch!” he slapped the boy’s hand that pinched his thigh. “You’re a demon.” He mumbled.

 

Mesut giggled, but then the door creaked again and he threw his eyes at it and saw Mourinho and Florentino on the doorway, discussing something in Spanish with a pace he was still unable to cope. Sergio, on the other hand, turned to them with a small frown, but didn’t say anything until the two gentlemen decided to acknowledge their presence.

 

“Hello, boys, how are you today?” Florentino greeted them a little too sweetly for Sergio’s liking. Mesut was about to get up, but the director waved his hand, “No, please, _chico_ , sit down.” He did as he was told even though he could see the dismay in Mourinho’s face which was weird because off the pitch, he was generally a pleasant guy. Florentino walked across the room towards his seat behind the table, “You two would like anything? Some drinks, maybe?”

 

Sergio was about to say something, but Mourinho was quicker, “ _The point_ , please, Flo.”

 

“Oh. Yeah. Right. The point.” The eldest of the four sighed and took a seat on his own.

 

“Mr. Florentino, sir,” Mesut spoke with a small voice, “Why are we here?”

 

Florentino smiled nervously, “Oh, dear, you must be wondering why. You see, a week ago I was called for a meeting with _Real Federación Española de Fútbol_ , a monthly gathering for a bunch of old men, you see,” he took his eyeglasses off and leaned back on his seat. “Not everyone is old, though, Jose tagged along as well as other coaches and—and the association decided on something that, well, not exactly conservative.”

 

Both of the players in the room blinked. It was very unusual for an upper man like Florentino to call up players to discuss something that was not related to their performance, more again to discuss what was not supposed to be the players’ business. Mesut glanced at Sergio who gave him a glance as well, felt even more confused that his teammate did not even know where this talk was going.

 

“Maybe you’ve heard that the government has legalized gay marriage recently and is now giving full support on it. We are not that vitally related to the government whatsoever, but horrible things happened regarding to this issue in football, you see.” He sighed, “Mesut, I’ve heard one or two things about this in your country as well.”

 

The German blinked but some names came up in his head and he nodded, “I…kind of feel that way as well.”

 

“And Sergio, what do you think about this?”

 

“Well,” the Sevillian looked a tad bit puzzled, “I do think that equality is needed even in this profession. It’s not the sexual preferences that we need, it’s the talent.” He shrugged.

 

“I take it that none of you find people with different sexual preferences disturbing, am I right?”

 

Mesut tilted his head to one side, “You can say that. Sure.”

 

Sergio only nodded and didn’t give any further comment.

 

“Well then.” Florentino crossed his arms on the table, “The association had decided that the bigger the effect a club is holding, the better it will be for the campaign for equality in this business. As you can see, FCB has taken their first step in officially accepting their fans with no regard to their sexual orientation; therefore, they have started the campaign even before this matter is issued. As FCB’s equal, we are appointed to deliver the great change and encourage our closeted colleagues to come out; the burden is now on our shoulder to bear.”

 

Both players only stared at him and Sergio actually made a face that yells ‘what the fuck are you talking about’. The pause was a second too long for it to be comfortable until Mourinho finally spoke up. “Bottom line: you to have to pretend that you’re gay for each other in public.”

 

Another long pause. Mesut kept on blinking until Sergio started to laugh nervously, “Wait, what?”

 

Florentino looked as if he wanted to evaporate into thin air while Mourinho practically sighed at the bluntness that was Sergio Ramos. The manager strutted towards their seats and turned them around to look at him, “You,” he pointed to Sergio’s face, “are chosen to pretend to be gay over him,” he pointed at Mesut, “And you,” he turned a look at the younger player, “are to pretend to be gay over him as well.”

 

“The committee had decided that you are the perfect people and this is the perfect time to do so,” the director added, “Especially after that commotion caused by Sergio a few days ago. It took the committee’s attention and they even asked me to investigate if you two are closeted gays or not, but you do know how I appreciate my players’ privacy.”

 

Mesut couldn’t find his voice, he couldn’t even find what he wanted to say about. He felt a real great urge to speak, to defy, but the shock was a little too strong for him to handle all at once and he slumped on his seat. He couldn’t even think straight anymore, all he could think about that was not only that the Spanish Football Association just thought that he was gay, his boss and his coach also told him to pretend to be one. With _Sergio_ nonetheless. He felt dizzy and rolled his head up to look at the ceiling. For the first time in his life, he felt totally powerless. He had not even find the next Miss Right to date and now he was told to practically close down the possibilities and pretend to be gay. Not gay in as in a ‘happy’ sense, but ‘gay’ gay. He started to imagine about the look on his mother’s face once she heard it, on his sisters’, on his father’s…wait.

 

When he was back to earth, Sergio was on the verge of flipping the table as he tried so hard to be polite while yelling his protests. “W-wait,” weakly Mesut tried to speak, “Shouldn’t this be discussed with our managers?”

 

“That’s a fucking good point!” Sergio pointed at him, “Our management won’t allow it. We didn’t fucking sign up for any of _that_.”

 

“Well, if you want to talk law with us here,” he glowered at the defender, “what is supposed to be Real Madrid’s agenda is also yours and your management has no saying in any of this unless it has anything to do with your health and performance.” Florentino squinted a little, “It even should be confirmed by our own medical team.”

 

“So you’re not going to bring our management into the scenario?” Mesut sounded more horrified than before.

 

“We will,” the director replied softer than he did to Sergio, “Only after we make sure you two understand this project well.”

 

“What about our own personal life, then?” Sergio gritted his teeth, “How about _our_ privacy?”

 

“We’re never to invade your private life, Ramos.” The director patiently explained, “In supporting this project, we will provide you with security that would enable you to live your private life as usual. Some changes would be made, yes, but nothing will affect your personal lives that much, I can assure you that.” he paused momentarily, “You can also share about this project with the people you think you can share this with, but keep in mind that this is highly confidential.” Sergio was at loss of words and he fell back onto his seat next to his teammate who had been mute since the last time he spoke. “Jose will assist you two and he is the only one in the team who knows about this project. You only need to act it up for half a year and drop it after, make a huge break-up and you’re done.”

 

Sergio snorted disrespectfully, “You make it sound like it’s a piece of cake.”

 

“We’re making everything easy for you and we always will. Now, what would you like to drink? This will be a long discussion.”

 

*

 

The stadium was already dark except for the waiting area near the parking lot for the players, it was almost midnight when finally the two players were dismissed from the meeting. Sergio was sitting on the bench while reading the contract that was given to him and Mesut after their talk. He was still a little stoked though he was no longer freaking out. It was not his first time to study his own contract, though he would need a second opinion and he could wait until Flo talks to Rene. Next to him, Mesut was not doing so well. He did not even touch the envelope and put it away in his bag. He didn’t even move an inch ever since they sat there. Whenever Sergio glanced at him, he always had his eyes closed and his lips moving without making any voice. It was a pitiful sight, the Spaniard thought, the boy must be new to this kind of stupid set-up.

 

 “Hey,” he called, “You hungry or anything?”

 

“I just want to die.” Mesut groaned, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head.

 

“Hey, you,” Sergio turned his head to him and smiled thinly. The kid must be shocked. He was shocked as well, but after he yelled, he always finds it easy to get his composure back. Sure, this was a crazy idea— _sick_ even, but he found himself willing to co-operate if it means that they could do something about the cause itself. He was just like that; he found it ridiculous to regard one’s sexual preferences as a reliable parameter to their future in sports in general. “It’s not as if we have any choice. Flo did promise us a better security et al and the man might be a big bluff, but he never lies.” He patted the younger man’s head gently.

 

“No!” the German slapped the hand on his head, he sounded horrified again, “Don’t…just…no.” Mesut mumbled meekly.

 

The Spaniard raised his eyebrows, “And you said you’re not a homophobe.”

 

“I’m…not…”he chewed on his lower lip, “I...I don’t know. I mean, no, I have no grudge against it, none at all. I wholeheartedly agree that there shouldn’t be such discrimination, it’s just…it’s…” he took a deep breath, “This project…is too much for me, man.”

 

“Hey, we’re in this together.”

 

“ _Precisely_.” Mesut snapped, “ _Together_. _Me_ and… _you_.” He stuttered, “D-don’t you think it’d be…well…make us… _awkward_?”

 

The older man felt like laughing and ruffling the German’s short hair, but he faked an annoyed face instead, “So you don’t find it flattering that I _want_ to go out with you?”

 

“It’s not that!” Mesut whined, “It’s not…you’re…I mean…I’ve always thought of you like we’re b-brothers…” his eyes were glistening and he looked like he was about to cry. The blonde man found no heart in him to tease him even further. He was in distress, his life just turned upside down in the last five hours. He was no longer a kid, yes, but who wouldn’t react like that to such a thing?

 

“Come here you,” Sergio stretched his arm to reach him.

 

“No, you don’t understand-“

 

“How can’t I understand?” the Spaniard tugged on his hoodie to reveal his teammate’s face.

 

Mesut turned to him to shout but then he noticed the look on the defender’s face. He was smiling, but he could see the tenseness in the corners of his lips and those golden eyes of his. The fact that Sergio was with him in this chaos hit him hard. Sergio could break down right there and then, but he did not. He even tried to talk to Mesut, to comfort him and to make him feel okay even though he wasn’t feeling so. The German never hated Sergio’s martyr tendency this much, he could practically see how scared his teammate was from his eyes alone, he had never seen that look before and it made him feel like shit. Carefully he shuffled closer and wrapped an arm around Sergio’s neck, pressing his head against the older man’s trembling shoulder. He could feel the defender’s arm circling his back and his hand rested on his shoulder, pulling him slightly closer.

 

Sergio’s breath evened a little bit as he relaxed around Mesut, his trembling ceased gradually as well. Mesut off-mindedly started to rub the back of Sergio’s neck, messaging the knot he found there. Touching someone always comforts him, to find people who had that kind of effect on him was hard though. It was a surprise that Sergio was one of those people. Over the years, Sergio had always been a very good friend for him and he was one of those few people who did not give up getting him to open up. He felt lucky that out of the squad, it was Sergio who was chosen to be with him in this.

 

“We can do it, right?” Mesut whispered against the thin material of his teammate’s cardigan.

 

“Yeah.” The blonde man replied with a gentle stroke on the German’s silky hair, “We’ll take care of this together. No need to be scared, okay?”

 

Mesut nodded with a small smile.

 

*


	2. Preparation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i decided to make this a WIP. i don't know if i'd be able to probe this issue deeper, but i will try to work on this my best.

It was a tad bit chaotic on Mesut’s side of the family. He had never seen his father _that_ frantic when he arrived, claiming that he received a call from Flo. He and Mutlu bought the earliest ticket to Madrid and before Mesut could properly sober up, his father already bombarded him with questions and stuffs while his brother went straight into the kitchen to fix some coffee. They were scheduled to another meeting at Bernabeu that morning and Mesut avoided his father by going out of the house to wait in the car after he took a shower and changed into a clean tee and jeans. It was a little disappointing that his father showed reluctance on the idea of this movement even though he couldn’t yet to say that he was ready. He got into his Ferrari and just as he started the car, his phone buzzed and he found a text from Sergio.

 

_From: Sergio_

_U up?_

 

He grinned and typed his reply slowly as he plugged his iPod to the car and played some pop Sergio brainwashed him with for the last two months.

 

_To: Sergio_

_yea its damn hectic_  
my dad complained n my bro is making coffee non-stop  
hows it goin over there?

 

He pressed ‘send’ and put his phone on the dashboard. Glancing at the front door, he could see his father walking out without his brother. Maybe Mutlu found it unbearable to watch or something; his brother had always been the soft-hearted one. He smiled a little as he remembered how shocked he was himself the first time Flo told him about the thing; and he still thought that Mutlu was a wreck compared to him. He and Sergio went to practices as usual afterwards, but they did start to spend more time together, not only giving a ride to one another. Sergio was an amazing cure for his nerves, the guy really was comforting and knew well how to relieve stress in ways Mourinho wouldn’t complain about; shopping, for example. His phone buzzed again and he checked on it.

 

_From: Sergio_

_my parents are surprised and worried as hell but Rene is cool_  
he complained over the paper works he will have to bear with tho and he said he’ll talk to ur dad later  
it feels like prom again damn it  
i’ll see u later k

He glanced at the passenger seat as his dad came in and sat on it. “ _Schnell_ , young man, no time to lose.”

 

“OK, Papa.”

 

*

 

They had a long talk in Flo’s office, Mesut’s father was _actually_ looking at the details of the contract with Rene and was actually taking some of Rene’s suggestions. It was amusing to see the two worked together, but even Florentino could not hide his boredom as he yawned a little. Plus, Mesut grew to dislike this office and excused himself to go out with puppy eyes not even Florentino could say ‘no’ to, he did not realize that Sergio snuck out behind him. They ended up sneaking out of the building to get some smoothies from a nearby café Michael once told them about; Mesut found the vanilla banana smoothie extremely comforting. They sat on the outdoor table to enjoy the slightly warm and refreshing morning air; it was empty anyway so it wouldn’t cause too much trouble.

 

“You’re so a girl.” Mesut muttered as he eyed his friend from behind his Ray Ban when Sergio sat down across the table with his green tea smoothie latte.

 

“What’s wrong with green tea?” the Spaniard complained.

 

“It’s green tea _smoothie latte_ , Sergio.”

 

“You’re generalizing a drink, Mesut. And I can’t break my own diet,” He casually shrugged and sipped on his smoothie, “Look who’s in need for more ‘muscle mass’ and gobbling a whole banana and a scoop of vanilla ice cream with extra sugar. No lunch for you, mate.”

 

“But this is healthy! I’m still in my growing stage, unlike some people…”

 

“You’re goddamn 24.”

 

“I still have one more year.” Mesut shrugged and sipped more of his smoothie. It tasted heavenly; it was almost three years the time that he spent here and Michael found this place only on his second week of driving to practice. It was quite unfair, but then again Mesut was pretty ignorant to his surroundings.

 

“You’re such a child.” Sergio shook his head.

 

“Hey. I’m about to be your boyfriend, who’s gonna’ date a child now huh?” Mesut hit the older man’s side lightly and the Spaniard almost choked on his drink.

 

“Wow, look at you. You were all tears and whines only a few days ago, and now you’re all jokes about it.” He grinned at the younger man, all teeth a humor.

 

“I didn’t cry, damn it!” Mesut hissed, glaring at his teammate. He then leaned back on his seat and sipped his drink some more, his mind wandered back into that cold office where his father and Sergio’s brother were huddling in. “I wonder what they’re talking about now.”

 

“Maybe they’re debating how to make the press talk about how we’re such hornballs without leaking a sex tape or making up one.” Sergio pondered, “I can actually picture it on Marca’s headline and we’d be like ‘what the hell when did we make that shit’.”

 

“That’d be a problem.” Mesut turned to him, looking genuinely worried, “Sometimes my mom is really buying shits the media say, you know?”

 

The Spaniard considered for a moment, “Just tell her to expect that, it’d be easier to cope with.” He sipped on his drink and turned to him, “Besides, DFB will do something about it, won’t they?”

 

Mesut rolled his eyes, “Didn’t you hear about all the shit we went through back in 2010?”

 

“Germany was not all that interesting back then.” He winked teasingly. Mesut pouted and pinched his side rather hard, making him jerk a little, “You brat!”

 

“There’s a closeted gay player among us.” The younger man carried on, “He only came out to the NT and we actually got along well. He also only came out when Philipp mentioned it once and encouraged anyone who feels the need to say anything about it. We embraced him, he was relaxed and he could be himself, but it’s really…crazy.”

 

“What is?” Sergio placed his cup on the table and crossed his arms on it.

 

“We’re quite close, I still talk to him sometimes,” Mesut smiled uneasily, “He told me about how he dealt with the shit people aren’t throwing at him and the likes, but it’s the silent judgment that scares me the most.” He took a deep sigh and took off his shades to look into his friend’s eyes, “It’s around us. People around us are judging us, they say they’d accept us no matter what, but it doesn’t work like that. It _never_ works like that. My mate was unable to simply express himself on the pitch because he couldn’t risk getting caught; he is intimidated by a mere idea of homophobia in this business that he could not even maintain his personal affair in peace.”

 

“Doesn’t it happen to us all the time?” Sergio rolled his eyes.

 

“No, Sergio, he’s actually _avoiding_ accusations for things he never did and will never do!” the younger man squinted at his teammate, “Are you seriously into this cause at all?”

 

“Hey, just because I don’t know about things like that, it doesn’t mean I can support something.” Sergio actually looked a little offended.

 

“Okay. Sorry. What I’m saying is he’s getting weird threats and wrong accusations from people he had never met before. It’s dragging him down, but so far nothing leaked out to the media, but he felt particularly responsible when we’re accused as ‘a bunch of gays’ in 2010.” The German sipped on his long-forgotten smoothie, “He’s not the only one in the NT. I don’t know the others, Philipp might be the only one who knows else than Jogi and Hansi. Maybe Basti knows, but I’m not sure.” He then blinked as he realized he started to stray away from what he was talking about and looked back to Sergio. “Anyway,” he cleared his throat, “Threats will come from every single direction.”

 

“Meh,” Sergio drank the last drops of his drink and put his cup away, “It will still go like that if you’re getting more and more success in your job, dude. If you’re afraid of those things, don’t pursue success.” He leaned back on his seat, “Let me ask you something, do you have any idea how many people out there now claimed to know you personally after you came here?” Mesut blinked at the question, there was a small scowl on his forehead, “Exactly. It’s the same thing whether those people would talk bad or good about you. Even Karim got stumbled once, right?”

 

Mesut still nursed a scowl, “But it’s different when you’re accused to have violated an underage boy!”

 

“It’s different because it is how exactly the society is looking at such matter right now,” Sergio calmly said, “and if no one would take a stand right now, when will such prejudice end?”

 

It seemed to take a few seconds for Mesut to comprehend the information, he still had that tiny scowl on his forhead as he did and it made Sergio smile. Mesut was a smart kid, he could actually think about complicated strategies and matters, but he always had a little trouble simplifying them. On the other hand, Sergio didn’t like complex matters and always preferred to keep everything simple. It helped him to cope with things and the crazy life he had with much less stress. He started to understand why Mesut was easily shaken with things though.

 

“Don’t think too much, man.” Sergio flicked the boy’s forehead and earned an annoying whimper that made him laugh, “Let’s go back before they started to think that we’re closeted gay or something.” He got up from his seat and Mesut followed his suit. It sure was hard for the German to forget about the matter just like that as he tailed behind Sergio while sipping on his smoothie. The older man put his shades on and glanced back, “I said don’t think about it too much.”

 

The midfielder looked up at him and caught up with his pace, “No, I was just thinking…” he muttered as they took a turn on the pavement, “If…say, if you’re really gay, with what you know about how that thing is regarded in the society and everything that has been going on with it, would you come out?” he asked as he put his shades back on, looking at his friend still.

 

“Hm. Do I have a boyfriend?”

 

“Uh…you could.”

 

“Then I would.” Sergio snickered, “I’d be damned if I don’t show off my partner to the whole world, man.”

 

*

 

When they came back, Mesut received a gentle swat on his head by his father who started to rattle in German about his contract. Sergio moved quickly towards his brother and spoke in low, fast Spanish. Florentino already left and there were only his secretary and Mourinho in the room. Mourinho looked like he didn’t want to be there, but he spoke nicely and well to both Mesut’s father and Rene. From what his father told him, he had been so helpful in understanding the contracts.

 

“So we can go home now?” Mesut asked.

 

“ _Verwöhntes Kind_ , we should wait for your friend over there. Rene asked us to have lunch together, I have to thank your friend too that he’s been so helpful.” He placed all the papers in a map and gave them all to his son, “I’ll explain more to you about it at home, alright son?” gently he patted Mesut’s head with a tired smile.

 

Mesut was perplexed a bit; it had been long since the last time his father patted his head like that. “Oh. Okay.” He glanced at Sergio and saw the Spaniard winking at him while making funny expressions as Rene spoke about something. His older brother found out and smacked his head, making him wince. Mesut giggled at that, this actually felt nice.

 

Rene then packed his papers and things and turned to Mesut and his father, “We can leave now. I hope you like Spanish food, Mr. Özil.”

 

“I enjoy European culinary delights, of course, Mr. Garcia.”

 

“I know this great Andalusian restaurant-“

 

Mesut was no longer interested to hear what they were talking about and concentrated more on what would he order in that restaurant. Sergio brought the team there for a couple of times and he really liked the beef tapas and that custard-like pudding dessert. Suddenly Sergio whacked his lower back, causing him to yelp and leap over to him to attack him with deadly pinches. The older man only laughed while he tried to fight him back as they walked out. Özil Sr. glanced at them and shook his head with a small smile, exchanging a knowing look with Rene.

 

“Kids,” He mumbled. He could actually spot the worry in Rene’s eyes, but he understood, “They never grow up.”

 

*


	3. Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm. I think this won't be _that_ long after all.

It was coming. Ever since they finally held a press conference, it had felt more and more hellish day by day. The conference was surprisingly short and perfectly organized, nothing went out of the plan except, perhaps, Mesut’s way too green face. After he said his part of the speech, he regretted taking this step and wished that he did better now that the audience went total silence in a matter of seconds. He noticed an reporter actually dropped her mic as she stared right at him just like the other (at least) sixty-something audience. The silence died when Sergio reached for his hand to squeeze it on the table—an act he was so familiar of, that was what Sergio would always do when he knew any of his teammates was in need of courage.

 

A photographer took a photo of them holding hands with an eye-blinding flash, and soon the other followed his suit. Mesut squeezed Sergio’s hand back and lifted up his face, showing courage; showing that he could do what everyone else failed to. His eyes quickly adjusted to countless of flashes and buzzing sounds of questions bombarded to them. The security swiftly made a line to prevent the reporters to get any closer, but they were more persistent today, more _brutal_. He was sure that none of the questions was pleasant to hear, it was good that they all yelled their questions at one time so it only sounded like a colony of angry bees, buzzing threateningly around them with their stings. A group of securities made their way to save both of them along with Mourinho, Florentino, the head of the federation, Villar Llona, and the moderator to safety.

 

He was never good with the press except the familiar ones from Bild, but he did not know whether he’d still like them tomorrow. Sergio did not let go of his hand until they were escorted to a car provided beforehand; it was as if the Federation already expected something like this would happen. Someone in black suit instructed to the driver to drive straight to deliver them home right away, but then Sergio called out.

 

“You can drop Mesut at my house.”

 

The guy turned to him, looking bewildered, “But Mr. Perez said-“

 

“If it’s a headline that they want, just give it to their face!” Sergio cut him off and huffed as the man finally reinstructed the driver and put two bodyguards in the car.

 

“I’ve instructed them to guard the two of you tonight. Tomorrow we’ll update your security details.” The man in black reported to Sergio and the defender simply waved him off. The car started moving and he tried to relax as he leaned back on the seat.

 

*

 

Mesut was staring at the wall. He remembered when his mother called after his father and brother went home. He stayed on the line for an hour, mostly listening to his mother’s sniffs and sobs as she tried to talk him out of it, knowing the trouble that comes along with it would be a torment for her third child. After that, his older sister talked to him on Skype with her eyes red and swollen. He had to chuckle because her eyes looked exactly like his. She looked tired, but she understood and expressed her support. Later his baby sister showed up but didn’t do anything but rubbing her older sister’s back.

 

His phone had been ringing for hours now ever since the conference; he did not bother to check who that might be. He only took his eyes off the wall only when Sergio returned to the living room with a bottle of scotch and two glasses. He had this solemn look on his face and had been silent for way too long since they arrived home; Sergio had never been silent for that long. He had turned his phone off even before the conference and he hadn’t check on it ever since. It wasn’t hard to guess why; he was more experienced in this kind of stuff anyway. He poured some for himself and Mesut, then he downed his just as quick. His face scrunched at the strong taste—unlike most popular belief, Sergio _rarely_ drinks alcohol—and relaxed on a single couch next to the one Mesut occupied.

 

The younger man considered his glass on the coffee table; would it make him feel better? Would everything be okay tomorrow morning?

 

“No, it’d only be worse.” He heard Sergio muttered and then a chuckle as the Spaniard put his glass back down on the table, “This is stupid.” He leaned back, leaving the glass empty.

 

The German turned his eyes to the wall again and tilted his eyes a little. “Let me guess,” he finally used his voice, “Red fonts, all capital letters; ‘ _El Tarzán de Camas_ Learns Magic to Comfort _El Mago_ ’.” He smiled as Sergio laughed at that.

 

“No, no; listen. Marca, our nicknames in red capital letters on the first page; ‘ _El Lobo_ Feasts On Nemo’s Lost Fin’.”

 

“Oh my god.” Mesut cried, “That is _cheap_!”

 

“That’s the media.” Sergio shrugged, “Just a reminder, in Marca’s scale on 0 to 10 in being proper, that’s 8 at the least.”

 

“I don’t even want to look at TV right now.” Mesut cringed and shuddered at the thought of cheesy, misleading headlines that would come to existence any second now. “Anyway, why am I here?”

 

“You looked way too nervous and pale in the conference; the reporters would be able to pick that up.” Sergio leisurely reasoned, “It’d be weird if you can survive the horror out of your lover’s embrace. They totally think that you’re the catcher anyway.”

 

“What was that?”

 

“The catcher, _baby_.” The older man grinned, “The ‘bottom’ of the relationship.”

 

“What?!” the younger man howled, “Why can’t I top? I _can_ top!”

 

“You’re slighter than me, etc. There’s no need for those people to think hard about it.” The Spaniard chuckled at how horrified the German looked; he had always been such an easy target.

 

“You’ll see I’ll get so buff in a month and they’d change their mind!” Mesut pointed at the older man, “I’ll be as buff as Cris and that’d make me the top!”

 

“It’d only make you a versatile bottom.”

 

“But I’m no less manly than you—oh, I KNOW! I’d leak it to public that you’re the one who spends time longer in front of the mirror! You’re the runner-up in the changing room after Cris!” the midfielder laughed evilly, “I am so topping.”

 

“Why are you arguing over something that doesn’t even exist?” the Sevillian barked in laughter and even more at the late realization all over his teammate’s face. Annoyed, Mesut lunged over the armrest of his seat and pinched the defender’s hips hard, making him cry. “HEY!”

 

“Aw, boohoo, does it hurt, _baby_? Let me comfort you.” He pinched the older man again, this time on his thigh.

 

“Ouch, damn it, Mesut!” he grabbed the younger man’s wrist and pushed it away, “Stop defending yourself with those deadly pinches, seriously.”

 

Mesut grinned in triumph and retreated. “It makes me feel so much better. Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome.” Sergio grinned. The scotch was long-forgotten.

 

*

 

On the next day, it seemed like everything they guessed went far worse. It wasn’t a wise move that Sergio refused one of those bodyguards to drive them to practice; when they was about to arrive, a large group of reporters and fans were at ready on every single entrance that they know to Bernabeu and it was a real great pain in the ass when they managed to held them and tried to lure them to talk. Mesut took a deep sigh as he leaned back on the driver seat, staring at persistent reporters through the window with a bored look while Sergio winced at the girls he took some photos with for the last three months outside; they looked obviously disappointed as they cried and yelled obscenities at the two of them. He remembered how sweet they were before; they were not so much now.

 

It took half an hour for the securities from Bernabeu to clear the passage and helped them to drive in. Mesut didn’t even take any second to think and once the way was cleared, he drove into the parking lot and saw from the rear mirror as the guards locked down the gate. He wished that they would lock down the facility and let no one to see the practice except for Real Madrid’s own team. It actually did not end there because when they came into the changing room (a little bit late), everyone looked surprised and they were silent, even Marcelo. One by one the huddled closer, either merely giving them a pat on their shoulders or giving words for comfort. Iker looked so serious that Sergio was sure there would be a talk after the practice somehow.

 

As they walked into the pitch, he watched how Cris had his arm around Mesut’s shoulders with both Marcelo and Pepe huddled around them. It was great that so far, it seemed there wouldn’t be any problem with the team. He had no idea how he would be able to cope up with it if any of his teammates would not support them at all. Mourinho was already on the pitch with a tired looking Aitor and Rui whose eyes widened once they spot him and Mesut walking towards them. He did not know how to react, but thank god that Mourinho started yelling instructions and they were back minding the practice like nothing happened.

 

*

 

“ _Cari_ _ño_.”

 

Sergio stopped his track as he was about to go to the gym and saw Iker and Xabi walking towards him. He smiled at them, “Hey, guys.”

 

Xabi patted his shoulder gently with a small smile and Iker walked next to him. They were silent for a few seconds, but then Iker turned to him and looked straight into his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?” rather that accusing, he sounded suspicious.

 

The younger man blinked and considered against telling Iker the truth and remembered that he could _not_ even tell _anyone_ in the team about the project but Mourinho. “Uh…well.” Sergio scratched the back of his head, “I…we…don’t want to, you know, disintegrate the team-“

 

“So you think a surprise coming-out press conference wouldn’t?” Iker gritted his teeth and Xabi quickly placed his other hand on Capi’s back.

 

“Capi, don’t.”

 

It was a little too late though, Sergio felt slightly uneasy at how Iker raised his voice. It wasn’t as if he had any choice, he did _not_ want to lie to any of them. This was risky, but he should play it coolly. “Mesut…he thinks that it won’t make anything easier for the team. Which I agree, Capi,” he stopped walking and eyed the goalkeeper—his captain, “Because we believe—we believe nothing will change. It didn’t really matter, right? You’ve seen how we work, how we play for all this time; we did great. We worked great and will always be. Can’t you be satisfied with that?”

 

“I’m your fucking friend!”

 

“Iker.” Xabi stopped him, “Please. Let the boy speak.”

 

“I’m sorry that I keep it from you guys, but that’s what me and Mesut wanted.” He couldn’t wait for this talk to be over; lying to his friends made him feel worse and worse. “We’d also like you guys not to mention it. I mean, now you know, so our relationship is a matter outside of both the team and our friendship, so please.” He took a deep sigh, “Can we go just the way it was?”

 

Iker calmed down and Sergio couldn’t look into Xabi’s glassy eyes; none of them were angry, they were both _worried sick_ of him and Mesut. He could see it in their faces, he could _feel_ it. It was beyond everything that he could handle, yet he had decided to make everything works. It startled him when Iker suddenly patted his head and started walking away towards the gym. He looked at him in confusion until Xabi poked his side and he looked at him only to find him smiling.

 

“Nothing changed, _cariño_.”

 

*

 

“Lena says hi.” Sami snorted, “And said she had no idea how could you welcome a fashion disaster in your life.”

 

Mesut turned from his locker, blinked and laughed uneasily at that, “I don’t know. Uh. Love?”

 

The older man nodded and got his own fresh clothes out of his locker, “It must be crazy for your family. Is your mother alright?”

 

“Yeah. Kind of.” Mesut chewed his lower lip and closed the locker before he turned to Sami, “We had sort-of-a-talk before the press conference. Mom freaked out, but she supports me no matter what.” He smiled as he remembered the last few words his mother said on phone.

 

“That’s a real brave move you guys made.” Sami shook his head, “You’re so good at keeping it a secret, I wouldn’t have known.”

 

“Ah…hahaha…”

 

“Maybe you should talk to Holgi.” The older man added, “You know…you two can…relate.” He carefully spoke, eyeing the door for anyone else, but there seemed to be no one. He turned his eyes back to his teammate, “I feel bad for the kid. And maybe he could get, you know, inspired. Also the others.”

 

It hit Mesut that he almost forgot about Holger. This morning, when he checked his phone, he found 7 missed calls from him and it made him feel so bad that he could not answer them. He made a mental note to call the boy and nodded. He agreed with Sami; it was what he was aiming for at the first place anyway. “I will talk to him soon after I get the shits together.” Mesut chuckled and walked towards the shower, “Come. Unless you’re afraid I might ogle you.”

 

Sami shook with laughter as he got up, “After years of showering with you, I don’t think you’d even want to.”

 

*

 

Mesut waited for Sergio after the shower in the common room not too far from the changing room. He was flipping through the pages of a magazine (Sami had to go home to Skype with his girlfriend). He soon grew bored with it and checked his phone instead. There were countless texts from his friends back in German and Turkey (there were this series of amusing texts from Hamit where it seemed that he forgot how to control his fingers on the keypad). He replied to some that was not asking about his sexuality and soon got engrossed with it so that he did not notice someone coming in.

 

“Mesut.”

 

He looked up from his phone and smiled at Morata who seemed uneasy somehow, “Hey, Alvarito, what’s up?”

 

The boy shifted from one foot to the other nervously, “C-can I talk with you?”

 

The German pondered for a moment, “Sure. What about?”

 

Morata moved closer and sat down next to him. His cheeks were red and his eyes were big and teary, the older man had no idea what happened. The kid looked _terrified_. Was it him? Was Morata here to express his loath on his ‘sexuality’?

 

“I’d…I’d like to say,” the boy muttered. Morata was more mature than boys his age, he had been around Rafa too often that sometimes Mesut thought that both of them never acted like they should, but now he could see how _young_ Morata actually was. “Mesut, I admire your guts.”

 

“Sorry. What?”

 

“I…” he murmured, “I’m…gay. I couldn’t bring myself to come out to anyone but Rafa, he could understand, but then Rafa told me that it might help to talk to you. I-“ he took a deep sigh, his cheeks getting redder and redder, “I…I’ve been thinking of coming out, but I’m afraid of what others might think…how others might react…”

 

He couldn’t help it and reach out to touch the younger man’s shoulder, “You really have nothing to worry. We—I mean, everyone is all good, it doesn’t really matter. You…you might want to come out to your friends first though.” He laughed to make the feelings lighter, “As you can see, it’s a mess out there because of what we did, but don’t worry. Later you might find a good time to do it.”

 

“Do you realize that you’ve became, somewhat, like a martyr for…queer footballers? Or even the queer community.” Morata gave him a small, shy smile, “At least I think so.”

 

The older man raised his eyebrows at that and laughed. That was a real nice joke Morata didn’t even get, but he just waved the boy off as he laughed to his heart’s content. It was bitter, but at least it was funny.

 

*

 

“Thanks for driving me home.” Mesut told Sergio as the man pulled over in front of his house, “Tomorrow I will pick you up.”

 

“Remember not to use the Audi or, more again, your fucking Ferrari.” The Spaniard reminded him.

 

“Sure.” He was about to open the passenger door, but then he noticed someone sneaking just around the corner of the neighborhood through the rear-view mirror and thought against it. “Serg, I think I saw a weirdo.”

 

“You can take him down.”

 

“He got a camera; I think he’s a paparazzi. I hate paparazzi.”

 

“I saw one behind that trash bin over there.” Sergio sighed as he gestured to the trash can only a few meters away. “I think we’re surrounded with them. Maybe they’re waiting for us to get a little too comfortable in public and, you know,” he wriggled his eyebrows, “get down and nasty.”

 

The younger man made a face, “Ew, these people are _sick_.” he grumbled and opened the door, “There’s no way I’d give them what they want.”

 

“A kiss on the cheek would be harmless, _love_.” Sergio grinned cheekily.

 

Mesut rolled his eyes, but he knew that’d somehow make this project look more genuine for everyone after all. He really wouldn’t want to play no more if he could, but it was only Sergio and a kiss would mean nothing at all anyway. He stepped out of the car and walked around to the driver’s door, waiting for the older man to roll the window down. “I need more smoothies.” He faked a small smile and bent down to kiss the older man’s cheek chastely, slowly pulling back.

 

“I will buy you tomorrow.” Sergio winked and started his car again, “I won’t drive until you get in, _boyfriend_.”

 

The younger man laughed and turned to walk towards the front gate of his house. The body guard that was assigned to guard his house opened it for him from inside and he waved at his teammate, expecting good photos out of what he just did to be on the front page tomorrow.

 

*


End file.
